


Dissonance

by LittleWhiteTie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Blood and Injury, Clones, Fantasy, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Prophecy, Tales of the Abyss AU, knowledge of the series isn't required, platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWhiteTie/pseuds/LittleWhiteTie
Summary: Shiro can’t remember anything from before he was kidnapped by the Galra Empire seven years ago, but his life since then has been stable. Everything goes the way it’s supposed to, in accordance with the prophecy foretold by the Score; it’s so routine, it’s almost boring.That all changes when, hell-bent on a mission, a stranger named Keith breaks into his home, and an unexpected reaction between their quintessences transports them halfway across the world. Shiro finds himself deep in the heart of enemy territory with nothing but a bad headache, his weaponized prosthesis, and a churlish yet protective soldier for company.Keith vows to get him home safe and sound, but returning Shiro to his old life is easier said than done. They're going to need some help along the way.





	Dissonance

An explosion of light and colour pulses behind Shiro’s eyelids, a high-pitched ringing incessant in his ears. Something is crushing his skull, pounding, throbbing. He clutches a desperate hand to his head, as if metal fingers could pry him out of this painful vice grip, but there’s nothing there. There never is.

“Shiro!” A familiar voice several decibels too loud adds to the noise, causing Shiro to groan. “Oh! Sorry, sorry,” Lance whispers, hushing.

After a couple moments, the pain ebbs. Slowly, Shiro blinks his eyes open.

Lance hops down from the massive windowsill of Shiro’s bedroom, silhouetted by the too-bright sun. He moves to Shiro’s side, crouching down. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Lance helps him to his feet. “Another headache, huh?”

Shiro shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. They go away as quick as they come on.”

“Well, sure, but they’ve been getting worse, and more frequent, too. I mean, you never got them at all before... you know.”

Before Shiro was kidnapped by the Galra Empire seven years ago. Before they found him a year later, missing an arm and all his memories. Shiro’s spent the past six years trying to catch up, but there are still so many gaps.

“How can you be so sure?” Shiro asks. “You weren’t even hired at the manor until after.”

“Yeah, but the Princess would know, and she tells me everything,” Lance boasts.

“Oh, I doubt she tells you _everything_ ,” Shiro teases, just to ruffle his feathers. “But seriously. It’s fine. Besides, the doctors haven’t been able to figure it out, so it’s not like there’s anything we could do about it anyway.”

“Alright,” Lance says, warily. “Well, if you’re up to it, Commandant Lotor is here for your lesson. He’s in the courtyard.”

It’s unexpected—his lesson wasn’t supposed to be until Remday—but the news brings a smile to Shiro’s face. He always looks forward to his combat lessons with Lotor. It’s not like he’ll ever get a chance to use his skills, not when he’s been confined to the manor grounds since the kidnapping, but it’s nice to dream.

“Thought you’d be happy about that,” Lance grins. “Don’t overdo it, alright?”

“Sure. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Just doing my job as your retainer-slash-servant-slash-best friend,” Lance says. “I gotta run, though. I’m supposed to help Coran in the garden today.”

With that, Lance leaves the way he came, jumping out of the ground-level window, leaving footprints on the ledge in his stead. Shiro shakes his head. The maids are _not_ going to be happy about that.

Grabbing his short-sleeved jacket, Shiro heads for the courtyard.

The clack of his boots against marble floor echoes in the excessively large halls of the Shirogane manor. The place is decorated lavishly from floor to ceiling with gems and gold and royal silk. _Blood money_ , Shiro can’t help but think. There’s nothing to do about it now, though, except take advantage of what he’s been given—including a highly advanced, weaponized prosthesis and combat lessons from the Commandant of the Order himself.

“Ah, Shiro. There you are.” Lotor waits for him at the centre of the circular courtyard, poised as always.

“Good morning, Commandant,” Shiro says. “It’s great to see you, though I thought our lesson wasn’t for another two days.”

“Extenuating circumstances. I will be away for a while,” Lotor explains. “The Fon Master has gone missing. As a member of the Order, it is my duty to help search for her.”

“Missing?” Shiro echoes. “That’s not good.”

The Fon Master is the only one who can read the Score: a prophecy carved in crystal that, when followed, will lead to unprecedented prosperity. Given that the Order exists to uphold the Score, it’s not surprising that finding the Fon Master would be the Order’s highest priority.

“Indeed not,” Lotor says. “But if all goes well, I will be back soon, and we’ll resume your lessons shortly.”

“I wish I could go with you,” Shiro admits. The Fon Master is important, of course. But more selfishly, he just wants to see the outside world, to explore beyond his backyard. Second-hand stories can only take him so far. He longs for adventure.

“Someday,” Lotor says. “Until then, have patience. Remember, patience yields focus.”

Shiro suppresses a sigh. “I know.”

“Practice your forms while I’m away. You can spar with the Princess or that retainer of yours in the meantime. I look forward to seeing your progress when I return.”

Shiro nods. “Alright.”

“In any event, we still have today. Come,” Lotor beckons. He draws his sword. “Show me what you can do.”

Shiro lights up his hand and takes the first shot.

Lotor is an incredible fighter, and he dodges every swing of Shiro’s with ease. His sword can’t dent Shiro’s naevimetal arm, but his attacks are decisive and lightning-quick, and Shiro only barely manages to block.

“You’re off today,” Lotor notes, when the tip of his sword finds Shiro’s throat.

“Headache,” Shiro admits. “I’ve been having a lot of them, lately. It’s mostly gone, but…”

Lotor sheathes his sword. “Hmm. I wonder…”

“Lotor!” a voice interrupts. From the _roof_.

A boy Shiro’s never seen before runs down the shingles and leaps a full two storeys down. He hits the brick surface of the courtyard in a roll and continues to his feet like it’s nothing.

Lotor’s eyes widen, his generally unflappable composition fractured for a moment. “Keith?”

The boy runs straight for them, sword drawn, cold fury in his indigo eyes.

Shiro moves in front of Lotor. “Who are you, and what do you want with the Commandant?”

“Out of my way,” the boy snarls. “This is between me and Lotor.”

Shiro charges up his arm. “I don’t know _what_ your problem is, but I’m not letting you past.”

“Fine. Then I’ll cut you down first,” the boy says, and strikes.

A brilliant flash emanates from where his sword meets Shiro’s arm, and Shiro’s headache returns tenfold. The air around them crackles with light, shimmering, flickering. His stomach lurches, like he’s lost hold of the ground beneath him, and then everything goes dark.

…

When Shiro comes to, his head is throbbing. He’s being moved, his arm slung across someone’s shoulders, his feet slowly dragging across soft earth.

Opening his eyes, he realizes that, one, it’s night time, and two, they’re not in the courtyard anymore—or anywhere near the manor, for that matter. They’re in tall grass, surrounded by wild bushes and craggy cliffs on either side. Pale flowers gleam all around them, scattering moonlight. He’s never seen anything like it before. “What…?”

The person carrying him stills. “Oh, good. You’re awake.”

That voice…

Shiro wrenches himself away, staggering to his feet. “ _You._ You’re the one who attacked me,” he hisses.

“No, I attacked _Lotor_ ,” the boy corrects. “You just got in the way.”

“What were you doing in my home? Why would you attack the Commandant?”

“Your home?” The boy winces. “Ugh. You’re the Duke’s son. Great, just great.” He sighs. “I was there to find Lotor _. Obviously._ He’s up to something.”

Shiro narrows his eyes. “That something being…?”

“I’m… not sure, exactly,” the boy says. “But I’ve got a feeling it’s nothing good.”

 _That’s_ his reason for attempted murder? “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Believe me or don’t. I really don’t care.”

“If you were after the Commandant, then what do you want with me?” Shiro asks.

“Nothing,” the boy admits. “I should apologize. I didn’t mean to drag you into this mess. I wasn’t expecting a hyperresonance to occur between our quintessences—didn’t anticipate you’d be connected to the seventh fonon, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

The boy arches a dark eyebrow. “What part of that didn’t make sense? How sheltered _are_ you?”

“I don’t have all my memories, okay?” Shiro snaps. His tutors hadn’t covered that. He’d been busy learning other things, things like his parents’ faces.

“Okay, okay. _Sorry_. We were both tapping into the same _power_ , which caused a _reaction_ ,” he says, voice condescendingly slow. “It transported us… wherever we are.”

Shiro frowns. “You don’t know where we are either?”

“No. But I can tell it’s dangerous to be out here at night; there are all sorts of creatures around us.” As if proving Keith’s point, something howls in the distance. “Can you walk?”

Shiro’s exhausted, but he’ll manage. “Yes.”

“Good. Just stick close until I can get you back home.”

Shiro sighs, resigned. The boy is homicidal and rude as hell, but it’s better than being alone out here, lost in the dark with monsters all around. “You have a name?”

“Yes.”

Shiro glares at him.

The corners of the boy’s lips lift into a slight smirk. “Keith,” he supplies. “And if you’re the Duke’s son, you must be Takashi.”

“My friends call me Shiro.” He considers. “I… guess you can call me that too.”

“Okay, Shiro.” Keith halts, grabbing Shiro roughly by the shoulder to hold him back. “Hold up,” he whispers, stepping in front of him.

Shiro strains his ears. Something rustles in the bushes. Several somethings.

Keith draws his sword. “We’re about to have company. Stay back.”

“I can fight,” Shiro insists.

“Fine. But be careful. I don’t wanna have to explain myself if the Duke’s son bites it under my watch.”

Shiro lights up his arm, the purple glow of his hand illuminating the area around them. “Good to know you care.”

Shiro knows it’s coming, but it’s still startling when a pack of animals leaps out, surrounding them. They’re _huge_ , completely unlike any of the animals at the edge of his backyard. Four legs, jagged tail, spiky mane, glowing eyes. And _teeth_. And _claws._

Shiro takes a deep breath. He can do this. He just needs to remember his training.

He steels himself and throws his metal arm up when one of the beasts lunges at him. It pins him down against the ground, crushing him under its immense weight. Shiro activates his hand; the creature recoils as his palm singes fur and flesh. As soon as his arm is free, he thrusts upward and stabs it in its soft underbelly. It lets out a pained howl as it collapses, and Shiro barely manages to pull his arm out and roll out from under it in time.

It’s the first time he’s used his arm to do anything like _that_ , and the feeling of his hand inside a living being— _taking_ that life—leaves a bad taste in his mouth.  

Another creature lunges for him. With a sharp breath, he scrambles backward, narrowly avoiding its razor-sharp teeth. He lights up his arm, but before the creature can snap its jaws at him again, it falls to the ground.

Keith sheathes his sword and extends a hand to Shiro, helping him up. Four other monsters lie dead at his feet. How…?

“I’ve had training,” Keith says, noticing his awe. “I’m a Druid.”

While neither part of Altea nor the Galra Empire, the Order has a military of its own; the Druids are devoted to enforcing compliance with the Score. The Druids act under the leadership of Commandant Lotor.

“You’re a Druid, and you attacked the Commandant,” Shiro says.

“Yup,” Keith says, simply. “C’mon. We should get moving before more things like that attack.”

“Where are we even going?”

“There’s a river nearby,” Keith says. “Hear it?”

After a moment, Shiro nods. Hidden beneath layers of cricket chirps and rustling branches is the faintest roar of rushing water.

“Let’s follow it. If we don’t know which direction to head in, we might as well stick close to a source of fresh water,” Keith says. It’s as solid a plan as any, so Shiro goes along with it.

They make their way in silence. Best not to attract the attention of more predators. Besides, Shiro’s exhausted from the… _hyperresonance_ , Keith had called it. Plus, he’s still kind of annoyed with Keith for the whole situation.

Shiro can’t stay bitter for long, though. This _is_ what he’s wanted for years, after all—a chance to get out of the manor and see the world. It’s dangerous, and he’s not with the company he’d imagined, but it’s _exciting_. The sights, the sounds, the smells; every sense is in overdrive, basking in novelty. The taste of river water isn’t all that great, and Score knows what kinds of pathogens are in there, but it’s _different_. And when they stop to make camp, the ground is hard, and the night air is cold, and they have to sleep in shifts, but it’s an _experience_.

The valley is even more beautiful come morning. The pale flowers—selenias, according to Keith—have closed up their petals with the arrival of the sun, but everything else is in full bloom. It’s all so vivid, alive in a way books could never capture.

And the ocean—the _ocean._ Shiro’s breath catches as they stand on a cliff overlooking waves and seafoam, water stretching out into the horizon as far as he can see.

“Seriously, you look like you’ve never been outside before.”

“I haven’t. Not really,” Shiro admits, too enthralled to mind Keith’s derisive tone. “I’ve been confined to the manor ever since the Galra kidnapped me seven years ago. I don’t have any memories from before that.”

Keith frowns. “What would the Galra Empire want with you?”

“Well, I am the Duke of Altea’s son,” Shiro reminds him, “So revenge, maybe.” His father heads the Altean army, well known for the brutal but efficient manner in which he destroyed the Galran city of Thayserix sixteen years ago, starting the Thayserix War. His name is stained with the blood of millions.

“If that were the case, why not just kill you outright?”

“No idea,” Shiro says. He’s often wondered the same. “Wasn’t written in the Score, maybe.”

“Huh. Well, guess that’d be one upside of following the Score.”

“You don’t believe in adherence to the Score?” Shiro asks. “Aren’t you a Druid?”

Keith shrugs. “Joining the Order was the closest way I could get to Lotor.”

“…You’re dedicated. I’ll give you that.”

More creatures attack—a mixed herd. It’s easier now, though; he knows what to expect this time around, and now that he’s had a bit of rest, he’s not so drained from the hyperresonance.

“Huh,” Keith says, as Shiro slices through a large bipedal creature with plum fur and a gaping maw. “You’re actually not bad at fighting.”

“Uh, thanks. I guess.” A little backhanded, but it’s probably the closest Shiro’s going to get to a compliment from Keith.

After Shiro takes down the last of them with a decisive arc of violet light, Keith gives him something that looks almost like a smile.

“Wonder how far we are from Arus,” Shiro murmurs, as they plod along. The sun beats down hot overhead.

“Pretty far, from the looks of it. Doubt we’ll be getting there anytime soon,” Keith says.

Now that they’ve climbed out of the valley and reached flat land, they should be able to see it. The Castle is the highest building in Altea, reaching up into the clouds. At the very least, the rim the massive crater the capital city is built upon should be visible. But there’s no trace of it anywhere.

“There’s another river up ahead,” Keith says, pointing off into the distance. “If there’s a settlement nearby, there’s a good bet it’s close to fresh water.”

Shiro nods. It might not be Arus, but anywhere would be good about now. He’s ready for a meal and a decent night’s sleep. Not to mention a hot shower—he’s filthy from the fights. The blood is going to be hard to get out of his clothes; Coran will not be pleased.

“Holding up okay?” Keith asks, after a few more hours go by. “You must be hungry.”

He is; he hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday, and he’s not in the habit of skipping meals. “Is anything around here edible?”

“No.”

Shiro sighs. “Let’s just keep moving.”

…

By the time they find civilization, the sun has set. The tiny hamlet isn’t much—a smattering of straw-roofed houses and farmers’ fields—but it’s a relief all the same.

They make a beeline for the closest—and only—food joint in the village. “Vrepit Sal’s,” the worn sign reads.

They swing open the wooden door, to find the chef engaged in a heated argument with two customers. Well, one customer; the other stands off to the side, not bothering to mask her bored expression.

“Does this look medium-rare to you?” the boy shouts, pointing at his steak. “Huh? Does it?”

“Calm down, Hunk,” the girl says from her spot against the wall.

“How can I calm down? This is an insult to food,” the boy—Hunk—says. “I’m offended.”

“And I don’t care. No refunds,” the chef says, arms crossed impatiently over his broad chest.

“Can you guys have this argument later?” Keith butts in, rudely. “We haven’t eaten since yesterday morning and would _really like to order.”_

Shiro’s self-conscious as all eyes turn to them. They’re quite the sight, exhausted and sweaty and covered in monster blood. “Uh. Please,” he says.

“Twelve hundred gald each for the special,” the chef says.

“Don’t order the special,” Hunk warns them. “Not unless you enjoy dining on disappointment.”

“It’s not like there’s anything else on the menu, or anywhere else to eat around here,” the girl says, rolling her eyes.

“It’s fine. We’ll take it,” Shiro says. “You... do have money, right?” he asks Keith.

Keith grimaces. “Uh…”

“If you don’t have money, you two should beat it,” the chef says, gruffly.

The girl removes herself from the wall and pries the plate from Hunk’s hands. She walks over to them. “Here. You guys can have Hunk’s not-medium-rare boar steak.”

“Really? Thank you,” Shiro says, gratefully.

“ _If_ you meet us at the inn when you’re done,” she says, dangling the plate in front of them just out of reach.

There’s a shrewd expression on her face, her amber eyes fixed firmly on Shiro’s arm. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. Still, they need to eat; Shiro’s starting to feel lightheaded. “Okay, sure.”

Keith glares at Shiro, but he ignores it.

“Sal, right? Get them something to drink, too,” she tells the chef. “I don’t want them passing out on me.”

“And who do you think you are, making demands like that, little girl?” Sal growls.

The girl smiles, smugly, like she was waiting for him to say that. She pushes up her glasses. “The name’s Pidge. Heard of me?”

Sal’s brow furrows, and then he blanches. “You can’t be… Pidge the Necromancer? But how—”

Pidge grins, a vicious thing. Green light glows between her fingertips, and as she extends her arms, a spear materializes out of _thin air_. “You really wanna find out?”

“Nope. Nope, not this again. We’re leaving,” Hunk says, grabbing her shoulder. “See you guys at the inn,” he says, with a pointed look at Keith and Shiro.

As soon as they leave, Keith hisses, “You got us indebted to the _Necromancer?”_

“We needed to eat somehow! How do you not have any money on you?”

“How do _you_ not have any? You’re the rich one!”

“I never left the house!”

Keith makes an exasperated noise.

“Look,” Shiro says. “If they really do want something from us, I’m pretty sure there are worse ways someone who goes by the title of ‘Necromancer’ could try to convince us than with a free meal.”

“…Fair point,” Keith concedes.

“Let’s just eat,” Shiro says, dividing the overdone steak into two.

They eat quickly, greedily gulping down the water Sal brings them. The boar is mediocre at best—technically, it’s the worst meal Shiro’s ever had in his life; Sal would be fired on the spot if he worked at the manor—but, leathery and gamey as it is, it’s definitely better than nothing.

Shiro feels much better by the time they leave the joint, even if the thought of meeting with the Necromancer leaves a knot in his stomach.

When they reach the inn, though, his mind is immediately put at ease, calmed by the aroma of apples and cinnamon wafting through the air.

Hunk greets them in the cozy little lobby, holding two plates. “Oh, hey! Glad you made it. Here, have some of this pie I made earlier. You guys look like you could use some _decent_ food.”

Pidge extends her hand, a friendly smile on her face. “I’m Pidge. That’s Hunk. We’d like to talk, if that’s alright with you.”

“We’d be happy to,” Shiro says, shaking her hand with the arm that isn’t contaminated with monster entrails.

“Great! Follow us.”

They lead them to the first room on the left and shut the door. “Have a seat,” Pidge offers, gesturing to the two wooden chairs at the little table against the wall. She bounds over to one of the narrow beds and bounces onto it, tucking her legs beneath her. Hunk plops down beside her, after bringing Keith and Shiro napkins and utensils.

“Are you really the Necromancer?” Keith asks with barely concealed incredulity.

“Nah,” Pidge says. “Well, I mean, yes, technically when people refer to ‘Pidge the Necromancer’, they’re referring to me. But I don’t actually, you know… necromance? I’m good at illusions, though. And hey. If rumours happen to spread, why stop ‘em?”

“Pidge is really good with light,” Hunk explains. “Actually, she’s good with all the different types of fonons. It’s how she made Colonel at only eighteen.”

“Not all of them,” Pidge corrects. “I can’t use the seventh fonon.”

“Well, yeah, but like, hardly anyone can use that. That one’s weird. Like, sound or something? We don’t even know what that one does.”

“That’s why it’s so fascinating,” Pidge says. “And speaking of things that are fascinating, can we look at your arm?”

“Sure.” Shiro holds it out for the two of them to examine. They inspect the perfectly carved metal with keen interest. There’s still gunk caked between his fingers, but they don’t seem to mind.

“Yep. Definitely Altean craftsmanship,” Hunk says. “This is some _sweet_ fontech.”

“Told you,” Pidge says. “Naevimetal, too.”

“Whoa, and check out this capacity core! A _tutti_ , maybe.”

Pidge’s eyes sparkle. “It’s… _beautiful_ …”

“Did you guys bring us here just to look at his arm?” Keith interrupts.

“Actually, we brought you here to ask for your help,” Pidge says. “Judging by that arm, I’m guessing you’re rich—and, therefore, influential—and have an Altean passport. We’re with Fon Master Shay, and we need to get across the border.”

“Why would you need someone with an Altean passport?” Shiro asks.

“Uh. Because we need to get across the border into Altea?” Hunk says.

“We’re—Where _are_ we?”

“Senfama,” Hunk says. “…Hold up, did you think you were in _Altea_?”

“No,” Keith says, at the same time Shiro says, “Yes.”

Keith kicks him in the leg, hard. “My _companion_ here has memory issues.”

“Interesting,” Pidge says, and that calculating look is back on her face. “How did you end up here?”

“None of your business,” Keith says, before Shiro can speak.

“Okay… Well, do you guys have names?” Hunk asks.

“No,” Keith says.

Shiro sighs. “I’m Shiro. My rude companion here is Keith.”

“Shiro,” Pidge muses. “As in short for _Shirogane_?”

“No,” Keith says.

“Yes,” Shiro says.

Keith kicks him again. “We’re in the middle of the Galra Empire! You want to get yourself killed _?_ ” he hisses under his breath.

“Like they wouldn’t have figured it out. I’d rather not get on their bad side by getting caught in a lie straight off the bat,” Shiro snipes back.

“Secrets don’t make friends,” Hunk says, though his tone is light.

Keith turns back to them. “What are you doing with the Fon Master?” he asks, his tone no less curt. “Are you the reason she went missing?”

“Uh, I’m the Fon Master Guardian,” Hunk says. “Who says she’s missing? Wait, no, never mind. A million gald says it’s Grand Maestro Haggar. Let me guess: she’s got the Druids looking for her, to bring her back to ‘safety’.”

“Unlike our previous Emperor, Emperor Kolivan wants peace between our nations. We’re trying to escort the Fon Master to Arus, to deliver a letter of peace to King Alfor,” Pidge explains. “Grand Maestro Haggar, for whatever reason, has been trying to stop that from happening. It’s like she wants a war.”

“Haggar is the worst,” Hunk says. “Literally, the worst.”

“Do _you_ want a war?” Pidge asks, looking at Shiro.

“Of course not,” Shiro says.

“So you’ll help us, then.”

Keith gives Shiro a warning glance.

“We’ve got a land ship—a dreadnought,” Pidge says. “If you want to get back to Arus, we can escort you there.”

“Even if you’re not into the whole peace thing, it’s a pretty sweet deal,” Hunk says. “But if, for whatever reason, you guys need a bit to think about it, that’s fine. Sleep on it. You can take this room; it’s already paid for.”

“We’re not above coercion,” Pidge adds, “but there’s really no need. See you guys tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, guys. Sounds great,” Shiro says.

Pidge and Hunk take their leave, and then all that’s left in the room is Shiro, Keith, and two slices of pie.

“You don’t trust them?” Shiro asks Keith.

“You do?”

“ _They’re_ not the ones who broke into my house and tried to kill my teacher, then landed me in the middle of the Galra Empire. If I can’t trust them, I _definitely_ can’t trust you,” Shiro points out.

“Fair,” Keith concedes.

“Besides, do you have any other ideas for how we’re gonna get back to Arus if we don’t take them up on their offer? We don’t have any money or any other form of transportation.”

“That is true.”

“So…?”

Keith shrugs. “I’m still not sure.”

“You have trust issues, you know that?”

“Yeah, and?”

Shiro sighs. He takes a bite of his dessert. “Pretty sure anyone who bakes pie this good can’t be a bad person,” he says.

Keith takes a bite and narrows his eyes. “It’s _too_ good.”

Shiro can’t help but laugh.

He scrapes every last bit from his plate, before hitting the shower. The water’s not hot, but it feels great against his skin all the same. By the time the water runs clear, weariness has settled deep in his bones, and he’s not sure he can remain standing much longer. It’s been a long day.

Once he’s given his hair a cursory towel-dry, Shiro takes the bed on the left. The wooden frame creaks as he sinks deep into the mattress and burrows under the blankets. “’Night, Keith.”

“…Goodnight, Shiro.”

Shiro closes his eyes. Tomorrow will be good. Hunk and Pidge seem genuine, if eccentric. Not to mention Shiro’s always wanted to ride a land ship, and dreadnoughts are some of the fastest in the world. He’ll be back in the capital with Lance and Allura soon enough. Until then, he’ll enjoy his freedom.

A journey in the middle of enemy territory with a murderous Druid, a Galra colonel known as the Necromancer, and the Fon Master and her Guardian, who are being pursued by the entirety of the Order’s militia? What could go wrong?

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback is greatly appreciated! Comments make my day. I'm also still pretty new to the AU scene, so please let me know if I'm giving too much information or not enough, or if there are any other ways in which I can improve.
> 
> I write and draw things on [twitter](https://twitter.com/littlewhitetie), [tumblr](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com), and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/littlewhitetie). My inbox is always open to prompts. Come say hi!


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